


Shoe Shop Shenanigans

by Pale (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Female Protagonist, Gen, Kinky Gen, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Pale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Augusta has a very special reason for visiting a Muggle shoe shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoe Shop Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta, [tetley](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tetley/)!

These days, she only ventured forth into the Muggle world for two reasons: to buy Single Malt Scotch (if her lifelong friendship with Minerva had taught her anything it was to despise the swill that was Firewhisky) and to visit her favourite shoe shop off Regent Street.

Not that she considered purchasing Muggle shoes. She was perfectly happy with the Victorian ankle boots _Cornfoot's Shoes & Boots_ provided for her since her mother had taken her to Diagon Alley for the very first time. Whenever she was in need of a new pair she would visit the old-fashioned shop and have a cup of tea with Mrs Cornfoot while the shoemaker pointed his wand at her still clad feet to take his measurements. It was an efficient, if a bit boring, procedure.

The Muggle shoe shop was a completely different matter. It began with the smell – not so much of leather but of a wide variety of _perfumes_ (the thought that Muggles brewed potions for the sole purpose of enhancing a person's scent amused her, although she had to admit that she rather liked them). And with the smell came the colours.

She lacked the words to describe them. Cousin Enid, the poetess of the family – pureblood breeding certainly had its downsides – might have written a series of sonnets in praise of the many shades and varieties these Muggle shoes came in. (Although she doubted that Enid had ever set foot in a Muggle shop. Algie hadn't let her leave the house unsupervised since her fling with that Grindelwald supporter back in the 1920s.)

Augusta was the more prosaic type. The shoes reminded her of insects. Or of candy. Some were flashy and dazzling like the lollipops on display in the Honeydukes shop window, others delicate like the wings of a dragonfly. Still others were made of _plastic_ (one had to give it to Muggles, what they lacked in magic, they made up for with inventiveness). It was the clear plastic sandals that she liked best.

Because she wasn't in the least interested in shoes. No, the only reason that she haunted the shop were feet. Feet in all shapes and sizes. Sturdy and elegant feet, high-arched feet, feet with long toes and stubby-toed feet. Augusta loved them all.

When she had first discovered the shop after one of her weekly visits to Frank and his wife at St. Mungo's, she had been overwhelmed with the sheer amount of naked feet on display. No decent witch would show so much as her big toe in public (to see Muriel Prewett's high instep she once had spent a whole season at Tunbridge Wells, where she had had the misfortune to meet her late husband, frequenting exactly the same spots but being more interested in a young witch's fortune than in her feet).

But these Muggle women didn't seem to mind. They presented their feet with abandon, wriggling their toes and slipping in and out of shoes like Morgan had slipped in and out of … (but the sexual practices of one nymphomaniac medieval witch shouldn't be of interest here). As if there wasn't a respectable old lady watching.

While no one had ever outright complained about Augusta, she had received a lot of strange looks and whispers. The worst were the shop assistants, an army of little women determined to push her aside and into an unexciting corner of the shop to sell her what they called _orthopaedic_ shoes (it was a bit disappointing that Muggles, for all their inventiveness, didn't seem to care in the least about adding form to function. These kind of shoes looked like something a dog might have left behind in the street, and no self respecting woman – witch or Muggle – should ever be forced to slip a foot into something so disgusting.)

Over the years, she had become an expert in glamours. When she entered the shop these days, no one gave her a second look, and the shop assistants completely ignored her. On returning to the manor after such a successful hunting trip, she would lock herself into her bedroom and deposit her prize into the Pensieve. After a few fingers of Single Malt Scotch, she was usually relaxed enough to finally indulge herself.

The fall through the Pensieve raised goose bumps on her skin. She wrapped her dressing gown closer around herself. In the past she had come to the Pensieve fully clothed – leisurely removing layers and layers of fabric added fun to her little game – but it had been an irksome task to have to return to the Pensieve again and again in search for her bra, her silk stockings, or her knickers.

She walked slowly through the shop, breathing in the atmosphere. Her afternoon self loitered behind a shelf, but she was so perfectly glamoured that she barely noticed her. Which was a good thing. Augusta really enjoyed her own company (and her own touch), but looking into her own eyes while touching herself would have been inordinate indeed.

A blonde that looked a bit like Narcissa Malfoy (although her smile was much nicer and her breasts rivalled Pomona's) had just sat down on one of the red plush benches that lined the shelves. This was the moment Augusta had been waiting for. She slid on the bench next to her, watching the blonde kick off her trainers and socks.

Augusta's breath quickened as she saw those delicate feet revealed. She opened her dressing gown and sucked a thumb into her mouth, imagining that it was the blonde's perfectly manicured big toe. Her eyes never leaving her object of desire, Augusta trailed a wet line down her chest. Cupping her breasts, she watched the exquisite toes with the blood-red nail varnish wriggle into her favourite plastic sandals.

The blonde had a better taste in shoes than her trainers had suggested. She tried on as much as seventeen pairs of the most expensive sandals in the shop, obviously unable to make up her mind. By the time she had narrowed her choice to three, Augusta was writhing on the floor in ecstasy.

In her whole life, Augusta Longbottom never bought a single pair of Muggle shoes. But whenever one of her friends had to dress up as a Muggle (Griselda and Muriel loved masquerade balls and Minerva, unfortunately, had by far more serious reasons for such a disguise), she surprised them with her expert knowledge of non-magical footwear.


End file.
